The Potions Master
by NicolaPeffers
Summary: Inner monologue from Snape taken directly from book 1 chapter 8 scene: Harry's first potions class.


**The Potions Master**

Professor Severus Snape sat behind his desk at the back of his dungeon class room. He had mere minutes before his next class was due to arrive. He had been dreading this particular class all week. This was his first class with Harry Potter in it. Dreading and anticipating. Once again confusion played across his mind. He was careful to keep his face neutral though, even though he knew he was alone. It never hurt to practice, he thought ruefully of his occlumency skills. Even now that he was just a simple teacher, it never hurt to keep your guard up.

The sound of bustling young students traveling en mass greeted his ears just then. Seconds later his dungeon doors opened and the first few Slytherin students came spilling into the class room. They took seats up front, giving brief glances over their shoulders at the back of the dark room where Snape sat at his desk.

Snape compulsively picked up a discarded quill and dipped it in his ink well, beginning to write on some spare parchment in front of him. He needed to look busy all of a sudden. That Potter boy will arrive any moment now. When he did, Snape wanted to appear distracted. Something, anything to avoid those eyes again.

What brief eye contact they had shared during the feast before the term started five days ago was enough to bring back ghosts. Not that he had shown any of this at the time. He had simply stared for a few seconds, suddenly lost in a memory of sweet Lily. He has his mother's eyes. Then he had regained a firm hold on himself and had looked away.

The sound of children babbling among themselves grew louder around Snape. He glanced up through a greasy curtain of black hair at the seats in front of his desk. They always seemed to have something to laugh about, children. In his deepest secrets that only Dumbledore could access, Snape hated children. And yet here he was – a school teacher. Dumbledore always insisted that they'd grow on him but it had been eleven years and the very sight of a first year class filled Snape with disgust. The laughter that greeted his ears now sent a shiver of loathing up his spine. It was all too similar to the laughter around James. Him and his little friends were constantly harassing Snape when he had attended Hogwarts. Well, thought Snape, at least James Potter is dead.

Speaking of the dead, Snape heard the distinct voice of Harry Potter just then. He has his father's voice. He had chosen a seat somewhere in the middle of the room, surrounded by his friends. He already had friends. Snape's hatred doubled. Snape's first week at Hogwarts had been one of the loneliest of his life. The only person he wanted to be with was Lily and she had been sorted into Gryffindor house, him into Slytherin. It wasn't long before Lily started hanging out with James, who was also in Gryffindor.

Snape glanced down at his parchment. Instead of writing, his hand had drawn a doe instead. Suddenly embarrassed, Snape took out his wand and with an efficient flick made the offending parchment vanish. He stood to his full height and rounded on the class, glancing steadily at all the small childish eyes looking fearfully up at him. At least he had managed to build a reputation over the years, he thought as he conjured the register for his newest potions class from thin air.

Snape stood at the front of the class holding the register. He simply stood there, waiting in silence. The class quieted down and a somber silence filled the dungeon. At least the fear he instilled in his pupils makes them quiet down fast.

Snape simply began to read off the names from the register. He glanced up briefly after each name to see a hand in the air and then his heart began to quicken... he paused at the name he knew too well already.

"Ah, yes," Snape said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity."_

Snape chose to ignore the smirks and laughter that erupted briefly from the class. He finished with the register and glanced around again at his new pupils. What these students needed was more intimidation. Especially the Potter boy. No doubt he already thought he was better than everyone else. Simply by not dying. Still it was the biggest mystery of their time. Even Dumbledore couldn't find a reason for the boy to have lived through the killing curse that ended poor Lily's life. Enough! Snape thought savagely. Daydreaming about the past was not becoming of him. His mind was not used to such wanderings, not for eleven years.

What this class needed now was one of his good old fashioned intimidation speeches. And that he could deliver. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with it's shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Snape wondered almost humorously who would be the first student of the term to screw up their potion. Maybe the Potter boy? It was true, Snape was good at his job – Potion's Master. Dumbledore had said he hadn't met Snape's equal. Although they quarreled each summer about the Defense Against the Dark Art's job. Each year Snape would request he teach that subject. Wasn't he – a former Death Eater in the flesh – the best person for the job?

This summer during their usual row the only thing Dumbledore wanted Snape to defend was Harry Potter. That was before he had seen or heard him. He had obliged graciously because that was what was expected of him from the Headmaster. But now that the Potter boy was right in front of him, looking so much like his father, James, except the eyes of course... again confusion welled up inside Snape. Confusion was bad. It clouded the mind and therefore was a weakness to be stomped out.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He won't get it, Snape thought. He could tell as he approached the boy, coming to tower over him. All he could sense was anxiety and an empty mind. Such weakness. Such openness. It was disgusting. This will put him in his place, thought Snape.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Of course he didn't know. Snape had known he would say I don't know even before the words escaped the Potter boy's mouth. Now that Snape was standing right in front of the boy, his eyes locked onto the Potter boy's eyes, Snape saw a determination in those eyes to not look away. They were Lily's eyes. She was a fighter too. Snape was suddenly quite sure that whenever he looked at the Potter boy he was going to see Lily from now on. But Lily was long dead. He had a sudden memory of holding her cold dead body while he had sobbed... a sudden anger seized him.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Snape reached out again and probed the Potter boy's mind. Again emptiness and anxiety. He didn't know the answer to this question either. What did he know? Lily had been smarter than this. But James... James had been lazy.

"I don't know, sir,"

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh Potter?" Maybe Snape would be reminded of James every time he looked at the Potter boy. That is just what he needed. To be reminded of a bully every time he looked at the boy. Snape decided then and there to watch the boy like a hawk for the slightest attitude or cheek.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Now Snape was just on a roll. The Potter boy would fail to answer this question as well. Weak and lazy, just like James. He didn't even need to penetrate the boy's mind this time.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

Snape listened while the class smirked and laughed a little. He watched the boy look away briefly. Such cheek! He would be just like his father, James. All that's left of Lily is the eyes. A twinge of sadness creeped into Snape's well disciplined mind. In a way he knew this moment would come, when they would both meet at last. He just had to wait eleven years. Now that they had met, he found he intensely disliked the boy. Except the eyes of course...

"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione, who he had been ignoring until now. And now for some education: "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Snape clawed his vision away from the boy's eyes and stood up straight again. Enough memories, it was high time he began to teach in earnest. There was just one more thing to do before the lesson began, something which filled Snape with a sense of satisfaction.

"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

5


End file.
